Broken
by Illyria Lives
Summary: "Once gone, it can never be identified, never named. All Tahno can say is that it takes everything that he is with it. It leaves him weak and almost empty. It leaves him broken."
1. Water

**Title: **Broken

**Summary: "**Once gone, it can never be identified, never named. All Tahno can say is that it takes everything that he is with it. It leaves him weak and almost empty. It leaves him broken."

**Rating: **K

**Author: **Illyria Lives

**Word Count: **1,756

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Legend of Korra. I do, however, really like Tahno.

* * *

_Pain._

Pain in every pore, every fiber of his bones and skin. Pain in places he never even perceived as capable of feeling pain. The pain drives everything from his mind, from his lungs. For a moment his entire existence is the pressure of a thumb on his forehead, and the pain that will surely break him.

_Breaking._

Something is shattering, deep inside of him, breaking off from some section of his body that he cannot fully detect. It forces itself out through his lips, escaping in the exhalation that was meant to be a scream, but is in actuality little more than a series of frightened gasps. As the air is forced by the pain and pressure to leave his lungs, it takes with him something extra, something beyond air. Almost tangibly, he can feel it travel past his lips, shaking his teeth, and fading away. Once gone, it can never be identified, never named. All Tahno can say is that it takes everything that he is with it. All of the pain, the fear, the panic. It takes his laughing years amongst the snow and leaves it a lie. It makes every punch forgettable, every win nothing more than a ghost that he can never shake. It leaves him weak and almost empty. It leaves him broken.

_Broken_.

He has been broken into a thousand pieces, he thinks, and he is going to die. There is nothing to stop him from falling apart at the seams and simply fading away between the cracks in the pavement.

He tries to breathe and finds that he cannot. Will not.

_Water._

He is suspended in space, drifting away, the water cool as a kiss on his skin. It takes him into its arms like a mother would to a child and begins to murmur sweet nothings into his hair. And, like a child, he allows himself to be comforted for the moment, opening his arms and body to the drifting coolness that was as well known to him as his own name. The water had always cared for him.

The pain seeps away, carried off by gentle whorls of the tides, and he can swear that he feels the light on the moon from behind his eyelids, silver and so, so beautiful. What he saw with his eyes closed was beyond human description. The moon was life. The moon would save him, surely. He felt it in the creak of his bones, in the burning fire in his lungs…

_Fire._

With a shock he opens his eyes to see that although he is indeed in water, always as gentle as a lover to him, he is burning. Fire runs along his arms and legs, concentrates on a thumb-sized area on his forehead, and forces itself into his mouth. Water is flooding in, into his nose, amongst his teeth and tongue, tasting like cleaning materials and blood. Sharp and sour. So unnatural and yet so human. It burns into his throat and he again realizes that he is going to die. Although a waterbender, born and raised among the ice and the snow, water is not a human element. It does not look kindly on things that are not its creatures. It burns its land-locked children and crushes them until they drift along as placated as any corpse. As every corpse.

The fire has reached his lungs.

He wants for air.

_Air._

The shimmer of lights that he had detected through the skin of his eyelids was the warped glow of the electrical lights, shifting and mutating from below the rippling sheen of the water, reminding him, oddly enough, of reflective silver silk. The light was air. It was life.

It was just beyond his reach.

_Reach._

He spreads his fingers and waves his arms in familiar patterns, expecting for the water to respond and lift him. The motions are second nature and he is confident that it will work. By the flick of a wrist and the splaying of fingers, he will live. As he always has. As he always _will,_ he tells himself.

The fire builds in his lungs. It sears the point of his forehead that feels like a calloused finger, pressed forever. It holds him down and continues to push, running currents along his arms and legs, making him cry out. What little air he had left drifted from his lips in luxurious bubbles, unbroken, unchanged. They float upwards, taking the last of his strength with him.

The thumb continues to push.

He continues to burn.

For the briefest second he thinks that perhaps he can close his eyes and make it all go away. He can let the fire get doused by the water that is keeping him from the surface. It will feel so calm and cool, he tells himself. He nearly begins to inhale.

And then he sees Haku.

Haku is almost an arm's length away, flailing like an unnatural fish, eyes open and staring, blood vessels huge and pupils dilated in fear. As they hit the surface of the water, the bolos that had tied their limbs together had come loose, and Haku was only now starting to try and swim, the rope still trailing from one wrist. At any second he could shoot up to the light and the air, where it was safe.

_Safe._

But Tahno knew better.

He could recall a very specific conversation with Haku concerning his swimming skills, namely, the lack thereof. It was a rare thing to find a probender who hadn't picked up the skill at one point or another, but Tahno considered it a sign of how successful they were; Haku never needed to learn, because he never fell out of the ring. It was a fact much bragged about in the winner's circles, in the clubs and after parties.

But.

Now.

Tahno reached over and got a secure hand on Haku's jersey, finding with a strange degree of separation that he could not longer feel his fingers. Light was darkening around his eyes and he could barely find the strength to kick his legs. As he began to slowly rise, struggling to remember the motions that he had been taught as a child, before he had learned that water wasn't his enemy. Before he learned about his power.

Before he had his power.

_Lost._

He drifts upwards, dragging Haku along behind him, and again feels that pressure in his mind, burning into the skin of his forehead. It tells him to let go of Haku's weight. It tells him to breathe. Breathe in the flames. Let them sear into the spot deep inside his chest where he could swear that something was now missing. Something had been stolen from him. It was destroying him from the inside out.

He tightened his grip on Haku's shirt and continued to push upwards, against the pressure. He was not someone to lie down and allow anything other than the spirits themselves stop him. And although that… _thing_ up on the probending arena was not human, neither was he divine. He had felt the touch of his hand on his face. He had seen his eyes. His eyes… so dark…

_Never._

He kicked out furiously, struggling against the pain and emptiness and the urge to inhale a lungful of water, Amon's dark and emotionless eyes burning into his mind like a nightmare. His head broke surface, and he pulled Haku up beside him.

_Blind._

He can see nothing but the limpness in his fingers for several moments, and, if not for the stone ledge to hang onto, he knows that he would slip back under the gentle ripples in the water, body heaving with a combination of sobs and coughs as he forces out the water from his lungs and throat. Every section of skin that was now not fully immersed burned and smarted beneath the electric lights. He could, however, find no physical damage. He searched for it, pulled up his arms and tried to look for the proof of the pressure in his head and the searing burn in his limbs. A break, a cut, a burn, anything that could give a name to that sore spot in his chest where the strange burst of air had left him empty. All he saw, through a teary haze, was a bright spot of red on the gray stone block, almost directly below his chin.

_Blood._

With the tip of his tongue he probes the cut on the inside of his mouth and spits again, watching the blood pale in the water that drips in rivers from his hair.

That is all. Just that one coin-sized blot of red on the floor.

He searches and searches, from the hospital to his apartment, deep into the night, but he finds no damage aside from the ache that tells him that something vital had been stolen from him.

_Stolen._

He searches and searches for it, and never finds it again.

_Never._

What he does find is a bright light after a dark tunnel. She has dark skin and hair, and her eyes are like stars. Although she doesn't smile at him, the way her words travel over his skin reminds him of how water was once so soft and so strong, pulling at him and guiding him in the currents. She reminds him, oddly enough, of feeling whole.

_Whole._

He doesn't know how to properly explain it to her, but she makes him think back to the touch of a finger on his forehead and the burning of his chi paths being ravaged beneath the water. She makes him think back to how powerless he was beneath the surf, breathing in water and blood. Maybe… maybe she could help.

He turns to her.

"_You got to get him for me."_

She nods.

The empty place inside his chest gives a weak thump and he can almost summon up a memory of how he was before, so confident, so solid. Perhaps the old him would have somehow tried to sweeten the deal for her, but he can't even begin to think of how he could possibly do that. Everything he had once held close was now beyond his fingertips.

As he stands to follow the metalbending cop and Councilman Tenzin out, he yearns for something to carry with him that will remind him of the moment when Korra's voice had lifted him up, for just the fraction of a second. But what?

_A Promise._

"See you around, Avatar."

* * *

**The End, for now at least.**


	2. Rain

**Word Count: **1,981

**Author's Note**: Akiko is the fangirl in the red dress, Tamal is the one with the dark blue hair and pink on her robe, and Na-Li is the fangirl in green. I am now aware that Haku is not the name of the Wolfbat's earthbender, and although I haven't corrected the first chapter yet, his real name is here.

* * *

_Rain._

It falls like a sick blessing from an empty sky, and he feels it like sharp needles in his scalp, soaking into his hair and making it hand limp in his face. He can remember a time before when he would haughtily flick it aside, the movement bringing all eyes, male and female, to him and his utter control over his body. It would get him offers of shared umbrellas, star struck girls allowed to cling to his arm for long enough for him to make it to his penthouse apartment, and then good-bye, lovey, I may never look at your wide-eyed face again, unless you want to come on inside, sweetheart, and let me bend some of that water from your clothes, it'll only take a few minutes, I swear…

He would have laughed at himself, now, standing in shabby clothes that he frankly didn't have the heart to wash or change, unable to lift his hand to expose that space on his pale forehead that could still feel the press of a calloused finger. He would have walked by, lifted his chin, and sneered down his sharp nose at the downtrodden man that surely couldn't have been made of the same material as him; after all, he was rich and famous, wasn't he? Wasn't it his right to look down from his high pedestal and give them a small glimpse of heaven?

_Wasn't it?_

The rain has now almost engulfed him, and he began to shuffle forward through the onslaught, water sloshing around in his wide-top shoes. Before, he could have been capable of removing the water from the equation; he could still recall the perfect motions and stances that he needed to remove himself from the weight of the rain, that seemed only there to drive him down into the pavement, trample him underfoot, and leave him a whimpering, sodden mess of missing heartbeats—

_Before._

The word settles into the hollow point of his chest, nestled deep beside his heart, and begins to twist. He can feel it pulling and prodding inside of him, a ghost that he cannot shake or ignore. It beats at him like the rain, relentless.

_Before._

He was the king of the ring, the champ, but now he was a lonely man walking out of the metalbending police headquarters after a particularly depressing breakdown in front of the chief of police and Councilman Tenzin, neither of which had any sympathy for him. Because he didn't deserve it.

_He didn't deserve it._

He tells himself this over and over again, a mantra, a prayer, a wall between himself and the truth, because although more things than he though possible had tried to destroy him in the past two days, and miraculously failed, he knows that without a doubt that if he was to look the truth in the eyes—_that he deserved it_—it would do more than destroy him. It would shake him down to the roots, force him to his knees, and obliterate him from existence entirely. He would fade away, leaving behind nothing but a cry, deep in the night that no one would hear. He would pass into the woodwork of history, nothing more than the man who deserved to have his soul ripped in two, and sloppily sewn back together by an unskilled hand.

_Hand._

He finally lifts his hand to defend his eyes when a speeding Satomobile runs into the gutter, splashing him with putrid gutter water.

_Water._

_Water, in his mouth and in his lungs, once so gentle and so majestic to him, pliant beneath his fingers, and now so cruel, burning into him and forcing open his eyes, to see that air is kept from him by his own element, forced to realize that it was no longer his element… it tastes like his blood, a bright spot against the cold concrete, and it chokes him to the breaking point, to the shattering point, where he bends until he breaks, and he is beyond repair._

_His eyes._

_His eyes._

Tahno opens his eyes once the water has passed, soaking into his clothes and hair, but he can still see the dark eyes gleaming at him from within the ivory mask. He feels that he will always see those eyes, even to the second when he finally allows himself to die. They will be there, looking down at him from the darkest corner of his mind, reminding him of a thumb touching his forehead, sending burning rivers down his arms and legs as his chi paths are ravaged by an unseen force. They will force him to feel, again and again, the piece of his soul that exits on a cloud of breath, shaking his teeth, and evaporating into the space around him.

The eyes will never let him be free.

Tahno has no idea how long he stands there, soaked and remembering his fall, but he does know that by the time he feels the touch on his shoulder the rain has stopped and he has lost the feeling in his fingers and toes.

The touch travels through him like an electric shock, up and down his trembling body, and he flinches away. The ghost of his former self crosses his arms and laughs at his weak reaction, and Tahno is sharply aware of it. He looks darkly under his curtain of wet bangs at whoever had broke him out of his shock-addled day dreaming, and takes a step back in surprise.

_Akiko._

Her dark skin was polished and glowing, hidden from the damp beneath her favorite umbrella, which Tahno can remember buying for her; not because he truly thought that she would like it, but to show her current boyfriend that he could care for her better, give her brighter gifts and more exciting nights. She dumped him soon after, and the umbrella became a symbol of whom she had chosen was better for her, who could provide better. The sight of the umbrella for Tahno is not unlike a punch to the gut.

She withdrew her hand and tucked a loose strand of hair behind one ear. She claimed that the dark red was natural, but they both knew better. He had known her better, but now she was like a stranger to him, a shining, glowing figure that was more suited to a winner.

_Winner._

She could see the ghost, standing beside him. The memory of his proud grin was seared into her memory, and the touch of his hand on her arm still brought shivers to her spine. He was Tahno the undefeated, the incredible, the fighter, the champion. It was an uphill battle to connect the image of him, pointing in celebration to the skylights of the probending arena and the slumped figure that she had observed standing on the street corner for five whole minutes, unmoving.

_Unmoving._

He wants to move away from her warm touch, her glowing green eyes, and hide his face away. He knew what she saw. Broken, shattered. Lost. In an ashamed way he felt unclean, too soaked in muddy water to deserve to stand by her.

She was the only one of the Wolfbats' inner circle that he had seen since the incident, but instead of feeling like he was coming home after a long trip away, he felt like he was intruding on her own personal space, infecting it with the uncleanness that followed him like a cloud.

_Cloud._

As the sky begins to clear of heavy thunderheads, a shadow passes over Akiko's face, and before he knows what is happening, she is touching his face, one hand cupping his cheek. The same motion he could recall making hundreds, thousands of times, but never had he been on the receiving end of it. She brings herself closer to him, until there is little more than their heartbeats between their chests, and she draws the umbrella close, hiding them from anyone walking by across the street.

"_Tahno."_

He blearily looks at her and, rather sluggishly, summons up his voice, cracked and worn by sleepless nights and sharp liquor, "Akiko."

She leans forward and he suspects for a moment that she will kiss him, like she always had, before games, after games, Tamal and Na-Li waiting for their turn, their skin the ice to Akiko's sunshine. Tahno had never even considered picking a favorite from angst the Wolfbat regulars; the girls were just toys he liked to play with when he was bored, and he had never stopped to consider whether he was the same to them; he knew for sure that Na-Li, sharply dressed in her green silks, was the same, jumping between Shazou, Ming and himself depending on the day and how she felt like playing, but Tamal and Akiko's motives were alien to him. For all he knew, she had dreamed of his skin the nights when he left her bed empty.

_Empty._

His eyes were so empty.

The press of her fingers against his cheek didn't change that, other than stirring the already present fear. She knew what he was afraid of, everyone knew, from the players to the refs to the newspaper journalists. The whole entirety of Republic City knew.

Overnight, the Wolfbat funds had almost disappeared, all investors and workers heading off to greener pastures, and Akiko had recently spotted Tamal and Na-Li, her old fangirl friends, walking around on the arms of other probenders, strong men with futures, and powers that gave them the confidence to stand up straight and walk with lights in their eyes that nearly outshone the sun.

_The sun._

The clouds finally broke and the sunlight poured down around them, turning her jaunty yellow umbrella into a glowing lantern, encasing them in the light of the sun, all consuming.

Akiko could remember a time when Tahno was her sun, his smile lighting up her nerves and making her feel like she was the only girl in a room crowded with people she knew were better than her, more attractive, more interesting.

But now the lights were out and everyone had gone home.

Except for Akiko.

She leaned forward and bypassed his lips entirely, mouth brushing against his cheek as she leaned forward to his ear. Tahno didn't move away out of curiosity; what could she possibly say to him that could lift the weight from his shoulders and fill the empty space in his chest?

_A Promise._

"I still believe in you."

She drew back wordlessly and began to walk along on the sidewalk, fully aware that there was nothing else she could do without his participation, his allowance for himself to walk along, carry his own weight. He didn't need someone to carry him along, or else he would never stand again.

"_Akiko!_"

She turns on her heel, eyes alight, and sees Tahno, still filthy, still sad and still empty, but his arm is raised, finger pointed at the opening sky. He suffers through a smile for her before he starts the long walk home, shorter than it had been several minutes earlier.

The empty place inside of him felt one person smaller. He felt one friend stronger.

_That night he dreams for the first time._

_And instead of Amon and his soulless eyes he sees Akiko and her bouncing red hair and caramel skin, leaning in to take a kiss from him before he takes the stage that he made for himself. She wants to wish him luck for the match, but as he pulls away after the silky feeling of her lips touching his, her green eyes have morphed to a cloudless blue sky, and her hair now hangs in two side-tails, framing her smiling face so perfectly._

_Avatar Korra smiles at him, and the words she speaks are a mix of her own and Akiko's._

"_I still believe in you."_

* * *

**Again, I'm not sure if this really is The End, but that all depends on whether you want more.**


End file.
